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"
Well
?
it
’
s
just
as
serious
to
us
.
You
understand
?
You
grok
?
"
"
I
grok
its
fullness
?
or
I
would
have
refused
to
drink
.
"
"
All
right
.
May
you
always
drink
deep
.
May
our
eggs
share
a
nest
.
"
Tears
started
down
her
cheeks
:
she
drank
and
passed
the
glass
hastily
to
Miriam
.
Miriam
whispered
,
"
Pull
yourself
together
,
kid
,
"
then
spoke
to
Mike
,
"
With
water
we
welcome
our
brother
,
"
-
then
added
to
Mahmoud
,
"
Nest
,
water
,
life
.
"
She
drank
.
"
Our
brother
.
"
She
offered
him
the
glass
.
Mahmoud
finished
what
was
left
in
it
and
spoke
,
neither
in
Martian
nor
English
,
but
Arabic
:
"
‘
And
if
ye
mingle
your
affairs
with
theirs
,
then
they
are
your
brothers
.
’
"
"
Amen
,
"
Jubal
agreed
.
Dr
.
Mahmoud
looked
quickly
at
him
,
decided
not
to
enquire
just
then
whether
Harshaw
had
understood
him
,
or
was
simply
being
polite
;
this
was
neither
the
time
nor
the
place
to
say
anything
which
might
lead
to
unbottling
his
own
troubles
,
his
own
doubts
.
Nevertheless
he
felt
warmed
in
his
soul
-
as
always
-
by
water
ritual
?
even
though
it
smelled
of
heresy
.
His
thoughts
were
cut
short
by
the
assistant
chief
of
protocol
bustling
up
to
them
.
"
You
’
re
Dr
.
Mahmoud
.
You
belong
over
on
the
far
side
of
the
table
,
Doctor
.
Follow
me
.
"
Mahmoud
looked
at
him
,
then
looked
at
Mike
and
smiled
.
"
No
,
I
belong
here
,
with
my
friends
.
Dorcas
,
may
I
pull
a
chair
in
here
and
sit
between
you
and
Valentine
Michael
?
"
"
Certainly
,
Doctor
.
Here
,
I
’
ll
scrunch
over
.
"
